


In Exchange

by HamburrgerBites



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling, Original Work
Genre: (brackets), Dealing with discrimination, Finding a home, Fluff and Angst, Found Family, Hufflepuffs can be mean too, I literally mention not one canon name, M/M, MC is a Muggle-born who uses magic-esque swearing half sarcastically, Multi, Original Characters - Freeform, Original Characters Everywhere, POV First Person, Present Tense, Short Chapters, Slytherin x Hufflepuff relationships, Sparse language, Swearing, author is a Slytherpuff is it too obvious?, both normal and weird swearing, finding where you belong, i love my sons, inspired by a tumblr post, justice for the Slytherins, learning to shed prejudices, read the name of the first chapter to see what I mean lol, this fic comes right from the bottom of my heart
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-12-27
Updated: 2021-02-26
Packaged: 2021-02-26 21:48:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 16
Words: 14,308
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21985969
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HamburrgerBites/pseuds/HamburrgerBites
Summary: I am livid. I am absolutelypissed.A hundred. Thirty-seven. Hufflepuffs. And who gets picked for the Exchange? ME.Or, the story where once every seven years, one student from each House is randomly picked to be part of the Hogwarts House Exchange Programme—and Tómithy Bain is horrified that he's it.
Relationships: Hufflepuff/Slytherin - Relationship, Original Character(s)/Original Character(s), Original Male Character/Original Male Character
Comments: 10
Kudos: 85





	1. “Just my trolling luck.”

**Author's Note:**

> Okay hear me out. I don’t usually write original characters into fanfics, what more an entire fic with nothing _but_ original characters. But... GAH. This one took hold of me. I am exceedingly embarrassed to be sharing this with the world. I hope you will like it. Please kill me softly or violently in the comments.  
> Inspired by [this](https://i.pinimg.com/236x/51/71/f4/5171f482a8d87381ad46e2819e4d8d9a.jpg) Tumblr post, with creative license.  
> Updates every Friday.

_October_

I am livid. I am absolutely _pissed_.

A hundred. Thirty-seven. Hufflepuffs. And who gets picked for the Exchange? ME. _Me_. Just my trolling luck.

(Okay, _okay_. Maybe I’m overreacting. My situation isn’t _that_ bad. It’s certainly better than that first year. Imagine arriving at Hogwarts for the first time ever and being forced to spend three months of it in a House that isn’t even yours. Imagine being a first year Gryffindor and being forced to spend three months in _Ravenclaw_. Poor guy.)

Anyway, I’m still upset.

The Headmistress is talking crap to cheer the four of us up now as we stand like buffoons at the front of the Great Hall. I’m smiling even though I wanna scream. The other three in my shoes look similar. (That Slytherin girl seems ready to stab herself. “ _THREE MONTHS IN GRYFFINDOR_.” I can almost hear her anguish.)

I’m the oldest of the bunch. Fifth year. Which is the main reason I’m angry. Really, Headmistress Parrocleft? Really? Is the pressure of preparing for O.W.L.s not stressful enough? I need to be tossed into a new environment and go through the trauma of adaptation, too? _Really_?

“Let’s give these four our best wishes!” the Headmistress finishes her speech, and I swear half the hall is clapping out of sheer delight at our fates. (I can see Mikael over at our usual spot practically crying from mirth.)

When we move to go back to our tables, Parrocleft makes an “ah” sound and tells us, “Effective immediately, of course. Your belongings are already in the respective dorms.” To the hall at large she says, “Prefects, I expect full accountability. Make room, now.”

I exchange (ha!) equally horrified glances with the other three. The hall starts buzzing as we switch paths and head to our adoptive Houses instead. As I near the Slytherin table, the students are sat tight, nobody shifting to “make room”. I’m considering just fucking right out of here when a lanky guy with dreadlocks stands up.

“Welcome,” he says, flashing me a smile like he means it and offering a handshake. “Curtis Addison. Seventh year. Prefect.” (I’m familiar with his face. He’s in the Quidditch team, I think. Talk about _ambitious_.)

I take his hand and smile though my teeth are clenched. “Hello.” I don’t want to give my name ‘cause Parrocleft’s already announced it and I would feel like an idiot, but I do it anyway. “Tómithy Bain. Nice to meet you.”

He sits back down and indicate for me to take a seat beside him. Nobody made room yet. I squeeze into the space between Addison and a girl who only spares a glance to hiss at me when I bump her shoulder.

Right. Great start.

But I keep my smile plastered on because I know. I might be freaking out and hating every second of this, but I’m carrying the image and good name of Hufflepuff House. I’m not going to let them down.

So I smile and nod in greeting when I catch anyone’s eye and say hello and introduce myself and I think, though my new place to sleep would be in the dungeons, I can’t wait to get into bed.

* * *

It’s noisier down here.

That’s kinda a surprise, since I’d figured if anywhere would be noisier at bedtime besides Hufflepuff’s constant clanging from the kitchen next door, it’d be Gryffindor’s.

I’m inside my room. One of my roommates (Dal-something?) is snoring away like a dozer. Another one (Henry? Harold?) is outside contributing to the din in the common room. I haven’t met the remaining one. (He probably has an old-timey-sounding name that I’d forget right away, too.) (I’m consciously being a hypocrite, of course.) (I met so many people today I’m ready to sell a limb for the hermit life. Addison’s still the only one I can get right. But only because he’s been dutifully hovering around me and pulling me places.) (I bet he’s one of Parrocleft’s favourites.)

Though the chatter outside breaks the silence of the night air, I don’t shut my ears. It’s noisy, but it’s kinda calming, in a way. I can’t discern a word through the thick stone, so the voices meld together into a murmur of nonsense that might be saying anything—gossip, a story, conspiracy theories, strategies to take over the world, what have you. I’m surprised, also, at how a lot of the voices are laughing.

When there are pauses in the babble outside, I catch the softer babble _outside_. No light is on in the room, but there’s the famous weird green light washing in from the windows looking out at the bottom of the lake. I hear something like the sound of the wind but watery, and dimly I can spot fish swimming by. Under that I think I can catch the crackles from the fireplace, though it might just be my heart.

It’s been a long day. It’s gonna be a long three months. I wonder what my friends are doing. Probably sleeping. Our prefects are strict, but we’re not much of night owls anyway. (I’m surprised, lastly, at how Addison hasn’t called for lights out yet. Does he know it’s against the rules?) (He probably does.)

The sounds down in Slytherin’s are more comforting than I expected, and as I’m falling asleep, I’m thinking of how I like the way the green light casts fish-shaped shadows into the room.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If it sounds too American, that is because I am not British. But I’m not American either lol.  
> Hope you stick around to meet other characters. <3  
> Thank you for reading!  
> Wishing you a Merry Christmas and a Happy New Year!


	2. “I would have chosen death.”

_October_

Addison leads me around the common room the next day to introduce me to even _more_ people.

I get to about the 26th or 27th person before losing it. (I actually lost it way sooner but I was _trying_ to uphold _patience_.) I tell him I’m very sorry but I’m late for a study group at the library. _He offers to walk me there_. I tell him oh thank you so much but I can make it on my own no need to trouble yourself thanks again.

Then I fuck the mandrake out of there.

It takes a while to reorient myself. I’m using unfamiliar halls to get to familiar places. It’s a weekend and almost lunchtime, so I take the turns most of the students I encounter on the way are taking. The tactic works, and I end up at the Great Hall where everyone is already digging in. I catch sight of my friends at the Hufflepuff table and although it hasn’t even been 24 hours yet, I feel my eyes prickling when they cheer as I approach.

“There’s our golden boy,” Mikael whoops. “How’s life in the slums?”

I knock him off his seat as the others laugh.

Yuzu offers me a cookie (and I _swear_ I’m not crying). “You okay, Tómi?”

I don’t have to fake my smile, with them. “Right as rain. Did you know the green light thing is true?”

“ _Oooh_ ,” Salma gushes conspiratorially. “House secrets. Tell us everything.”

I was never much of a storyteller, but I’m practically glowing under their attention, so I go ahead and describe the stuff I’ve seen. Dim greenish lights. Leather sofas. Tapestries of snakes. (The founders of Hogwarts were really intense about aesthetics, weren’t they? “Decorate with the one colour or die.”) (I would have chosen death.)

We head back to our common room to chill the rest of the day away. (The exchange students are still allowed to. The only catch is we can’t spend nights over.) I’m greeted by the familiar whiff of kitchen smells. And clanging metal. Everything is brighter here. Softer. Wood and spice and warm sunlight.

I’m home.

* * *

I’m dragging my return.

Mikael suggests hiding myself in our room, but Salma is having none of it.

“He might get found out and cause points to be docked off.”

“Oh, come on, Sally. Live a little.”

She smacks his head with a textbook. The commotion catches the attention of one of our prefects, and now I’m really getting kicked out.

Yuzu offers to walk the way with me, but I lie and say that if she’s caught outside after hours, it would cause points to be docked off, too, and I don’t want that. Instead, she gives me another cookie to cheer me up. (She bakes them herself. She loves raisins, but she always makes sure to have non-raisin ones for me.) (I SWEAR I’m not crying.)

I reach “the slums” without incident. I’m hoping to sneak in without being seen, but, of course.

“Alright, Bain?” someone hollers from one of those leather sofas as I’m caught at the entrance. About a dozen or more of them are spread out around the lounging area of the common room. It takes me a while to recognise the speaker as one of my roommates. Dal... Dalton! Dalton What’s-his-face, that’s it.

“Come join us,” he says, flashing me a winning smile as he moves towards me. (Another myth about the Slytherins that, as far as my observations have gone, proves to be true: They’re all good-looking.) (Something to do about them being pure-bloods, I assume.) (Seriously, how is every one of the ladies and gents in front of me so dang portrait-worthy?)

Without waiting for an answer, Dalton hands me a glass of something that smells sweet... and _alcoholic_. (Which is _definitely_ against the rules, holy hunchbacks.)

“Don’t look so affronted, Puff,” Addison’s voice calls out, and the felonious prefect himself sips his own glass of insubordination. “It’s merely a light cocktail.”

Dalton is nudging me. “Go on, take a seat beside Emory.” I must have made a face, because he laughs and points to a guy sat on the sofa nearest to the hearth. “That bloke there. He’s your roomie too. And the fellow next to him is Cass—”

He stops because I’m handing him back the glass. With the last of my willpower, I flash him and the room an equally dashing smile.

“Thank you, but I’m all tired out. You lot have fun without me, eh?”

I’m bracing myself for the protests, but Dalton just returns the smile and says, “Sure.” A little of the fire in his eyes has died, and I wonder if he can tell I can tell his smile is just as forced as mine. When I wish Addison goodnight, the seventh year merely nods.

The room is empty as I get into bed, so all three of them must be outside, then. Dalton, Emory, and... Harper, or something...

I think I’ve offended them.

I roll around in bed and do shut my ears this time. I don’t try to stay awake to watch the green shadows. Inside my belly, Yuzu’s cookie roils, and in my heart, I’m casting quiet spells to make the time go by faster.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oof. Poor guy.  
> Anyway.  
> Hashtag ProtectYuzu2020.  
> Fun trivia: She’s Korean! And is the “looks like a cinnamon roll, is actually a cinnamon roll” of the Puff gang. I’ll let you guys guess about the others haha  
> Thanks for reading!


	3. “Why the bowtruckle isn’t there a spell for this?”

_October_

A week passes by, and I’ve spent the majority of it with Hufflepuffs, going to the Slytherin’s just to sleep.

Parrocleft’s made the four exchange students write up an essay on what we’ve experienced so far.

I turned in mine merely half a parchment long.

Salma says I’m missing the point of the programme, but doesn’t blame me for my actions. Mikael says he’d be doing the same thing. ( _Beyond_ that, even. He’d have stuffed a mannequin in the “snake’s chambers” and sleep wherever the fuck he liked, thank you very much.)

Yuzu doesn’t comment on it. Which I think means she doesn’t agree with me being rebellious, but she’s too nice to say it out loud. (She _does_ hint at it passive-aggressively, though, offering to walk me back to the dungeons two or three times throughout the day.)

I sit on the Hufflepuff table during meals. In class, I sit with my friends. In my free time, I go nowhere else but to our common room. Honestly, I’m hanging out with them much more than I did before the exchange programme turned my life upside down. Usually I only search them out for conversation, or when we have to work on projects. (Which makes me sound like a jerk, but I just prefer a little solitude once in a while, alright?)

I feel the emotional stress of it building as the week goes by. In my bouncing leg. In my quivering fingers. I feel like I’m spending way too much time with my friends—

But that they don’t appreciate my company enough.

“Where are you going?” I say now as I catch Salma leaving the common room. I literally just arrived.

She’s balancing at least ten books in her arms. Her scarf matches the colour of the top one. “Study date with Christy. Hold the door open for me, will you?”

“Where’s Mika?” I ask, unmoving.

“Don’t know. Out on the lawn or somewhere. Can you open the door?”

“Yuzu?”

From atop the stack of books, Salma meets my eyes, and I know I’m being a prat, but I can’t help it. Eventually, she gives a long, loud sigh. (I think she would like to slam the books on the floor to show how exasperated she is, but she respects books too much to do that.)

“Tómi,” she says in her professor voice, and if I had felt like charging at everyone a second before, I now feel like fleeing away like a babe. “I know you’ve been forcing yourself. I don’t understand why, but I won’t pry if you don’t want to share.”

I don’t say anything, ‘cause I can’t deny any of it.

“I’ll be back before dinner,” she tells me, and I feel more like an infant with each passing second. “Just hang around here. I’ll bring you back my notes, okay?” She’s using her persuading voice now, which I can’t stand even more.

I open the door for her. Close it without a sound. The common room is half empty. Students in bright yellow laughing and lazing around. ( _One colour or die_.) I hear the constant clanging metal, and it clashes in my head disquietingly.

I open the door, and leave.

* * *

“ _Shit_.”

I’m standing in front of the Slytherin entrance.

And I can’t get in.

“Pure-blood,” I try again, enunciating each syllable like a punch.

The door remains shut.

I throw my hands up in frustration.

“Luxury,” I try instead. “Entitlement. Privilege.” It doesn’t work. Why the bowtruckle isn’t there a spell for this? “Ugh! I don’t know—Indoor swimming pool. Home theatre. Private yacht. Pink Lamborghini—”

The door seems to shudder— _no fucking way_ —and I catch my breath.

But then I rub my eyes and look again, and it hasn’t moved an inch.

I sink to the floor and hug my knees.

I just want to sleep the day away. (The earlier I sleep, the earlier the nightmare ends.) Why won’t this stupid door let me?

I almost laugh out loud.

I’m shit, aren’t I? That’s it. I’m the worst Hufflepuff to have ever existed. Salma’s words come back to me— _I don’t understand why you’re forcing yourself_ —and I pull my knees in tighter, burying my head.

I’m at the verge of a meltdown when I hear footsteps.

I rush to my feet so fast I have to hold the wall to steady myself—but too late.

Dalton appraises me with a brow raised, a slender glass of something sparkling gold in his hand. (Isn’t it 3 p.m.?) I wait for him to give me that winning smile, but he doesn’t, and I realise, _They’re giving me less chances._

He doesn’t spare me another glance as he steps up to the door.

“Gardenia,” he says in an unwavering voice.

The door clicks open.

If I didn’t feel like enough of an asshole before... well.

Dalton is stepping inside with his nose in the air, and every part of my body is shot through with nerves. I feel like I might puke right then and there. I feel like— _It’s my last chance_.

“Dalton—”

“Oh!” he utters with blatant sarcasm, turning around with a sneer. “So you _do_ know my name. Didn’t think you were indiscriminatory enough to have such courtesy.”

D—

 _Damn_. Never make an enemy out of a Slytherin.

“I’m—” I stammer.

Dalton raises the hand not holding the glass. “Spare me. We’re waiting for the three months to be over as ardently as you are. Do you know how much we miss Jaina?” he asks hypothetically, naming the Slytherin girl sent over to Gryffindor. “But you don’t see her loitering around here, do you? No, who am I kidding? You don’t even remember how she looks.”

I feel like I’ve been slapped. Dalton takes a slow sip of the golden liquid as he stares me down. And I—

I turn the other cheek.

“You’re right,” I say, ‘cause I _don’t_ , and if my voice trembled it’s because I’m trying my best to speak above a whisper. I’m thinking of something else to say, but I’ve come up with too many, and I don’t know where to start.

The hatred in Dalton’s eyes dies down a little. He turns away. For a few minutes, we stand there, pale greenish light over our heads and around our frames. I can hear the faint crackling of the fireplace inside. As I watch him watch the underwater currents, I’m thinking of how willingly he’s forgiven me.

“Forget it,” he says at last. It hurts—it hurts so much more because it sounds resigned. He shrugs. “We’re used to it anyway.” Underneath his words I hear, _We’re used to being disappointed in people._

And under _that_ , I hear, _We’re used to being cast aside_.

And I—

Fuck. I want to tell him I understand. I want to tell him I’m sorry. And the gurgle of words that I want to say overwhelms me and I end up saying nothing at all.

I grab the glass from his hand and drain it in one go.

When I try to return it, his hand is slack, and his jaw is dropped wide open.

My throat burns, but my heart burns hotter.

“Do you—” I croak. “Do you have more of that?”

Dalton shuts his mouth. Gingerly he takes back the empty glass. Shakes his head.

Then he gives me the biggest grin I’ve seen on a Slytherin yet.

“Right this way, my friend.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yay he made a friend :3  
> For those who don’t know: The password to enter Slytherin’s common room is changed every two weeks. “Pure-blood” was an actual password in canon, used by our Slytherin king himself, Draco Malfoy.  
> Thanks for reading!


	4. “They need to be stopped.”

_October_

I join their late-night gatherings.

They end earlier than I figured, never exceeding 4 a.m.

“We’re not all nocturnal,” Dalton jokes. “Also, some of us are more sensible than others. And would you believe we get sick of each other’s faces after seeing it too often?”

 _Same_ , I think, but don’t say aloud.

I’m reintroduced to people I’m already supposed to know. (Addison says he doesn’t mind, though. He doesn’t admit it, but I think he enjoys ushering me around like a puppy and making a show.) (The ones who had to introduce themselves a second time greets me more warmly than I dared to hope.) (I think Dalton pulled some strings behind the scenes.) (I gotta think of a way to show my gratitude.)

I sit with them, and clear my head, and try to shed a little of the skin I’d worn at first. I’m not... I’m not ready to put myself totally in their shoes yet. So I stay on my side of the fence, and lean over to view the greenery on theirs. Keep a glass between our worlds, and see through it like from a window.

A whole weekend passes by before I realise I haven’t seen my friends once.

I catch them before class the next morning.

They’re talking about something, Mikael arguing with Salma’s points. Yuzu spots me first. She waves excitedly, and my heart melts.

“Morning,” I say, slightly out of breath from jogging to catch up.

“Good morning, Tómi,” Yuzu replies. She hands me a muffin. (Bless her. Bless her adorable soul.)

“Tómi,” Salma demands, “please tell Mika he’s wrong.”

“ _I’m_ wrong?” Mikael erupts.

“Yes. Yes, you are. As always.” Salma sticks her tongue out at him, which he reciprocates tenfold.

I’m about to say something when Mikael pushes his textbooks into my arms.

“I’m going to the loo. Save me a seat.”

He walks off before I can answer, and when I turn back to the girls, they’ve already reached the classroom.

The class goes by silently. (Salma gets scary if we talk when the professor talks.) It’s cheesy, but I’m planning a picnic in my head for this afternoon. I don’t know, I think I just wanna show how much I appreciate their friendship. ( _Cheesyyyy_.) Being in another environment for two days in a row has shown me how different the lives in Hufflepuff’s and Slytherin’s are. It’s nice knowing I have a place that’ll welcome my return...

We head to our next class as the first one ends, then the next one after that. Mikael and Salma resume their argument intermittingly, and I’m zoning out thinking about how many sandwiches I can smuggle from the kitchen without getting caught. (What? At least I’m not smuggling _alcohol_.)

I’m antsy the whole time until Professor Duvitch finally dismisses our last class of the day. I’m preparing to lay out my fun plan when Mikael shoves his textbooks into my arms again.

“See you guys at dinner!”

He’s out the door before I can blink. “Where—Where’s he going?”

Salma is putting the finishing touches to her colourful notes. “The try-outs.”

“Try-outs?”

“Yeah.”

I must look as confused as I feel. Yuzu mutters a tiny _oh_.

“He’s trying-out for the Quidditch team,” she explains. “The position of Beater is open. Lori had a family emergency and gone home.”

“What?” Salma looks up from admiring her work. “Didn’t you know?”

“No...”

Yuzu places a hand on mine, giving me a smile that she means to be reassuring. “Well, you’ve been busy.”

Salma rises from her seat, and I feel another piece of me chipping away. “Catch you two later. I’ll be with Christy.”

Yuzu waves her goodbye. When she looks back at me sheepishly, I already know what she’s going to say.

“I also have, uh, an appointment.” She breaks into giggles. “A date-like appointment.”

_When did that happen?_

But outwardly I smile and say, “Cool. See you later.”

She rushes out, and I’m left alone at the empty table.

It... It doesn’t feel nice.

We’ve been having a Potions class, and I think some of the Chizpurfle fang dust got into my eyes, ‘cause I’m blinking them hard.

I’m scooping up all the textbooks, deciding whether to just have the picnic by myself, when someone claps my shoulder.

Dalton grins down at me. “Alright there, Bain?”

I didn’t even notice he was here. (I’m so dumb. He’s fifth year, too. It’s a mandatory class, of course he’d be here.) (Was probably lurking in the shadows at the back to keep up with the Slytherin aesthetics, reason why I didn’t see him.) (Or, well, maybe my sight’s narrower than I want to admit.)

“Oh. Hey, Dalton,” I say, standing up. For some reason I feel relieved.

“Tómithy, my friend,” he switches cheerfully. “Do you need help carrying your bully’s books?”

I know he’s joking, but my tongue is already shooting out defences for Mikael.

I’m three sentences in when it’s apparent that each word only makes Dalton more delighted.

He waits till I finish. Then he says, “Spoken like a true Slytherin.”

I stumble in shock. The textbooks fall to the floor deafeningly. “I’m not—!”

“Whoa!” Dalton has his palms up. “I’m kidding! Kidding!”

I stoop down to pick up the books for an excuse to hide my face. Behind me, I know he must be looking at me weirdly, but when I stand, Dalton’s courteous smile is flawless.

“The fellas and I are having a study session in the common room. Care to join us?”

It isn’t a test, this time. His invitation is sincere.

I manage a smile. “Sure.”

* * *

“You know Harvey,” Dalton gestures when we arrive.

They’ve got the fire roaring as the days grow colder. About five others take up a whole table at a corner of the common room. Two seats are still unoccupied, perfect.

I nod back in greeting at the bespectacled person in question. I _do_ know him, I’m glad to recall. My roommate. Dalton, Emory, Harvey. They could be members in a boyband.

“And the bloke beside him is—”

“Cassius,” the guy introduces himself, rising from his seat and smiling like the Cheshire cat. “Cassius Liath.”

I shake his hand. (It’s warm.) “Pleased to meet you.”

“Likewise,” he returns smoothly. (Reinforcing the fact that Slytherins are both good-looking _and_ charismatic.) (They need to be stopped.)

Conversation continue where they were left off as Dalton and I take our seats. I’d dropped all the textbooks from class at Hufflepuff’s, so I sit and simply listen to them discuss, and like that none of them seem to find it weird. (Nobody’s asking me whether I’m okay every few minutes, for one.) (Or trying to get me to interact more, for another.)

I listen, and I look around the room, and I think I’m only now seeing it properly.

The leather sofas are more worn out than I’d realised. On the stone walls at occasional places, there seem to be stains like from ink or paint. (Vandalism? _Slytherins_?) Voices bounce off the walls instead of shooting right out of windows, here, like in deserted stadiums, and it makes everything sound deeper, richer, more grounded. Framed pictures hang over the fireplace. I can’t quite make them out from my distance, but they aren’t photos. They look more like children’s art pieces that parents showcase with pride.

Everything’s surprisingly... homey.

I’m listening to the table laugh at something Dalton said, and it’s _ugly_ laughing. Snorting and wheezing. Clapping at the table and hitting each other. It’s _honest_.

And quietly I’m wondering why, being here, among people who should be as strangers to me, it feels more like home like home never did.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next update’s gonna be a list of important characters with their brief details.  
> Thank you for reading.


	5. List of Characters

** Main **

  * **Hufflepuff**
    * **Tómithy “Tómi” Bain**
      * Main character
      * Fifth year, Muggle-born
      * Average student in no clubs
    * **Mikael “Mika” Brubaker**
      * Fifth year
      * Tómithy’s roommate
      * Beater of the Quidditch team, temporary replacement
    * **Salma “Sally” Hajjar**
      * Fifth year
    * **Min Yun-Joo “Yuzu”**
      * Fifth year
      * Cinnamon roll <3
  * **Slytherin**
    * **Cassius “Cass” Liath**
      * Sixth year, pure-blood
      * Above average student in no clubs (though Curtis keeps trying to recruit him into the Quidditch team)
      * Curt's roommate
    * **Curtis “Curt” Addison**
      * Seventh year
      * Prefect
      * Keeper of the Quidditch team
    * **Dalton "Dal" Summerford**
      * Fifth year
      * Tómithy’s roommate
    * **Harvey Dayes**
      * Sixth year
      * Tómithy’s roommate
      * Always top of the class
    * **Emory Salisbury**
      * Sixth year
      * Tómithy’s roommate
      * Cassius’s best friend



** Minor **

  * **Exchange students**
    * **Jaina** – Slytherin to Gryffindor, third year
    * **Clemence "Clem" Cannady** – Ravenclaw to Hufflepuff, fourth year
    * **Chadwick** – Gryffindor to Ravenclaw, first year
  * **Students**
    * **Christy Lan** – Ravenclaw, fourth year, Salma’s close friend
    * **Joel "Jo"** – Gryffindor, seventh year, Yuzu’s boyfriend
    * **Lorene “Lori”** – Hufflepuff, fourth year, Beater of the Quidditch team, went home for an unknown period of time due to a family emergency
    * **Naya** – Gryffindor, sixth year
    * **Madilyn** – Slytherin, sixth year
  * **Staff**
    * **Ruthia Parrocleft** – Headmistress, previously Muggle Studies Professor, previously Head of Ravenclaw House
    * **Loretta Duvitch** – Potions Professor, Head of Hufflepuff House
    * **Tytus Normandy** – History of Magic Professor, Head of Gryffindor House
    * **Kit Novak** – Herbology Professor, Head of Slytherin House



**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My babies lol.  
> Will update as the story progresses. Might move this to the front too.  
> Thanks for reading!


	6. “A nargling shame.”

_October_

I spend more time away from Hufflepuff’s.

Not intentionally, I swear. (Okay, _kinda_ intentionally. I’m waiting to see how long it takes for my friends’ stupid faces to come crying that they miss me.) (Probability of that happening in reality: 0%.) (It doesn’t hurt to keep hoping, though.) (Actually it does hurt, a bit.) (I still see them in class so they’re never truly utterly consumed with the sensation of missing me.) (A nargling shame.) (Anyway.)

I’m walking into the Slytherin common room late into the evening (the new password’s “Wilde”), and the first thing I see inside makes me stagger to a halt.

“Holy—” I gasp. “Is that—Is that a _cell_?”

Harvey is sitting on one of the single sofas. They’ve already got the party going, but his hands aren’t occupied with champagne. “Yep,” he pops, still scrolling. He doesn’t even have the decency to move his eyes away from the screen.

I feel myself ready to shoot off from the mouth when Addison steps to block my view. I’ve never noticed how tall and menacing he was until now. He claps my shoulder, hard.

“No loose tongues are present in this room I’m sure?” His hand squeezing me is a vice. “Yes?” he demands with a smile.

“Yes,” I manage, and I almost add, _sir_.

The prefect releases his hold, smile becoming more amiable, less maniacal. “Good.”

Dalton’s laughter carries from the other end of the room. I make a face at him as I rub my shoulder, which only makes him laugh harder.

Simultaneous conversation is occurring throughout the mass of reckless Slytherins spread together near the fire. I think about going to bed. Then think about being polite. Then think, _Fuck that, I’m thirsty_.

There’s a litter of clean glasses and half full bottles on a table meant for studying. I help myself, choosing a bottle that looks the least shady. Around this time is when it dawns on me that _Harvey is a Muggle-born like me_. (Non-pure-blood Slytherins. Huh. I know I shouldn’t be surprised. But I am.) (Does this mean Addison can help cover up _my_ phone, if I wanted? What kind of fearsome connections does that guy have.) (On second thought... I’ll pass.)

I’m sipping my honey-sweet drink, hovering outside the circle, when Dalton waves me over. He’s frowning, so I concede.

“These villains are spouting lies against me,” he harrumphs as I settle onto the arm of his sofa. “Defeat them for me, will you?”

“All _I’m_ saying is,” Addison says from beside the fireplace, “it would give a cold appeasement for everyone to measure whether your snoring’s louder than the Express.”

“I said I don’t snore!” Dalton protests.

“Oh,” I mutter, remembering my first night here. And the nights after. “You actually do snore when you sleep.”

He takes a dramatic intake of breath. “Turncoat! I do _not_ snore.”

“Yes, you do,” Harvey says, not looking up from his phone.

As Dalton rages, I hear a little voice near me saying, “He _does_ snore...”

I look over the other end of my sofa and spot Emory. He catches my eye and returns my grin with a small one of his own. Beside him sits that Cheshire guy with the cool name... _Cassius_ , that’s it. (It sounds like a gladiator name.) Cassius meets my eyes, too. He gives me a playful smirk, and I can’t help but think again, _Slytherins with their good looks and self-confidence. Unacceptable._

One by one the group disperses to bed as the night deepens. I’m yawning, but I’m drowsy to the point of immobility. There’s a straggle left, conversation slurry and giggly, and I’m barely listening. I’m looking at the framed pictures hanging over the mantel.

I’ve singled out one of them. All the rest are green, but this one is blue. (Okay, _greenish_ -blue. But still.) I’m nearer now than I was before, yet I still can’t make it out properly. I think I would need to slide up a chair and stand on it for a good look, but no way am I doing that with people around. So I stare at it from afar and try to decide what the weirdly shaped blobs are supposed to be.

I turn my attention back to the straggle of Slytherins about me. They’re talking about a party, or something. (Is that all they think about?) I know all their names. The conversation’s slurry, giggly, unguarded... trusting. Dalton hasn’t left my side the whole night. Addison hangs nearby. I know what they’ve been doing. I’m surrounded by strangers and yet I... I’m _comfortable_. I’m warm. Harvey snorts awake when Addison tries to take his glasses off for him, and the languid silence bursts into laughter—and I’m thinking... _Who cares_?

Who cares if they’re breaking the rules? Staying up past curfew. Drinking alcohol. Using electronic gadgets—

_Who fucking cares?_

They’re _happy_.

By golly, they are genuinely _happy_. Careless. Reckless. Defiant.

They’re happier seeing _each other_ happy.

And I think I will be with them to fight for that harder than anything else I might believe in.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I love. My sons. Ngghnhngn.  
> Honestly it should be canon for everyone to experience how it is in other Houses. Get y’all empathy juice. *claps*  
> Today I want also to share with you a quote from a song: “[If you feel like you’re going to crash, then accelerate more, you idiot.](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ugrXP_YT9j0)"  
> I’ve been feeling unmotivated to continue this story (and so many of my other WIPs). I feel like I’m wasting my time. And my talents. And my life. But. I’m going nowhere... so might as well floor it.  
> Thank you for reading.


	7. Time

_October - A time_

I hang out with my friends as usual in classes and in my free time. (I’ve forgiven them.) We sit in our usual seats and talk about our usual stuff. But something weird has been happening... ‘Cause recently when I’m with them, I find myself looking over my shoulder, trying to spot... others.

I don’t want to admit it aloud, so when I catch myself entering a room and feeling heavy disappointment settle in my chest for a third time in the same day, I shake myself to get it off.

Someone rests their hand on mine. I glance up and it’s Yuzu, a worried frown on her brows. We’re sitting on the grass outside trying to get what little sunlight we can before the winter really sets in. I look around and realise Mika and Sally aren’t with us anymore. The whole lawn is empty, and I feel it.

“You’ve been zoning out,” she says, the frown not leaving her brows. “Is everything alright, Tómi?”

I give her a smile and interlock our hands. “Of course.” Her nails are painted pink with yellow flowers. I helped with the ones on her dominant hand. They’re pretty.

“Tómi?” Yuzu says again, and she sounds surprised.

I’m turning my head away and blinking hard when I stand, pulling her up with me. “I’m hungry,” I announce. “Let’s go find food.”

She squeezes my hand. “Okay.” She knows I’m lying. But she also knows food comforts me. So she lets me lead her back into the Great Hall even though we left it only an hour ago after lunch.

* * *

I remember a time, back in my first year, when I’d felt like this, too.

I’d just returned home from my first term in Hogwarts. (I was so young.) It had felt so weird then, too. I’d looked around the house and saw familiar things that felt... unsatisfactory. Distant. Like a smell your nose got used to and stopped identifying.

I was in awe at how the house and my family had gone on without my presence for the entire term. I thought... Well, I thought I was important. Important enough. To have been missed. To have been essential.

But the clock kept ticking. The wheels kept rolling. I had felt guilty for getting an opportunity that they didn’t. But after that first year... I was aware of how undesirable my situation really was.

I had left a space that left no vacuum. Just, more room to fit other things in. I’d experimented the discovery. Locked myself in my room to see whether it made a difference. But through the cracks around the door slipped in the laughter from outside. _How can they still laugh when I’m ignoring them?_ I left the room only when they’d gone to bed. _How can they treat me like this?_ I began to interact with them only in answer, in nods and hums. _Do they even love me?_

It dawned on me how unimportant I really was. Life around me would go on without me. I would leave more oxygen to those who remained, though even the amount of oxygen I’d be leaving behind would be insubstantial. I’m not making an impact whether I stay or don’t stay. Everywhere I go, faces will not recognise me. Anywhere I go, hearts will not know my name. Wherever I was, I will always want to be somewhere else.

It was a heavy discovery.

If I’m being more honest with myself, I would admit that I’d felt this way even before entering Hogwarts. Before that first absence.

But I’m bad at being a Hufflepuff.

So I keep it hidden.

Even from myself.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Writing fiction hurts when I bring in personal experiences.  
> To those who’ve experienced or are experiencing what Tómi’s going through, I’m sorry. May you find a home.  
> Thank you for reading.
> 
> (I've added in a month indication at the start of each chapter to better show the timeline now. All the ones before this chapter were in October, too.)


	8. “Why don’t we just magick everything, really?”

_November_

It takes a week into November for me to realise the Slytherins had been downplaying their interest in me.

I’m less self-conscious now, finding that sliver of comfort in balancing on the fence between our worlds, and so I’m more aware of my surroundings. Twice someone bumps into me, only for another person to materialise and help me pick up the book I dropped. (One of those times, I received a wink.) (What’s with Slytherins and winking?)

“Well, I mean,” Dalton hesitates, when I bring it up as everyone’s getting ready for the party. We’re in the common room, and it’s bustling more than usual. “Your face.”

I blink. I’m sitting on one of the haphazard sofas strewn near the fireplace, having finished dressing up, as he stands styling his hair. “My... face?”

He holds his palms up defensively before saying the words: “Slytherin face.”

“What does that mean?” I ask, feeling the item of conversation heating up.

He gives me a tentative grin and a shrug. “One of the girls mentioned you have, uh, an untouchable something about you. Like, a bubble, or a barrier, or whatever. I don’t know, man—”

“He’s trying to say you’re hot,” Addison cuts in, loud, from across the room. He’s fixing his tie in a floating mirror. Winks at me when he catches me staring. (What’s _with_ Slytherins and winking?) “Which, I will readily add, you are.”

“Right.” I stand up. The crowd of students bustles around me. I sit back down. _Slytherin face_. “Right.”

Addison pats his tie in satisfaction, looking down to admire his outfit for the event. I don’t admit it aloud, but he looks good. (The way he’s checking himself out, he’s quite aware of it, I’m sure.) All around the common room, other students are similarly dolling themselves up.

It’s the night of the Halloween party, and everyone’s wearing their best. Suits and dresses and ties and heels. They had been buzzing about the dinner since the semester began, apparently, and though this year’s party was delayed, it only gave the Slytherins more time to prep.

It’s not like a Muggle Halloween, here. People don’t dress up as vampires and sexy cats. (I mean, when you can literally _become_ a vampire or a cat, I guess the costumes lose their appeal.) So instead of some grotesque mask off of a horror film, I’m seeing teenage Hogwarts students at their prime.

The champagne is out early though the sun’s barely set (there won’t be any in the Hall later). I take a sip of mine. Watch as Dalton steals Addison’s floating mirror and struggles to get his hair in just the right angle and I wonder why he doesn’t just magick it. (Why don’t we just magick everything, really?) Harvey’s playing a game on his phone on the other end of my sofa. The phone’s raging, but his face is as blank as ever. (He’s opted for contacts instead of his usual square-rimmed glasses thanks to Addison’s insistence, which makes me notice how thick his eyelashes are.) At a corner near one of the tables, I spot Cassius helping Emory with his jacket...

I wonder what my friends are doing...

Addison moves to the lounging area, where those done prepping are waiting, and stands between me and Harvey. He checks his watch, notes the time and claps twice, the sound resonating off the stone walls. “Ten minutes!” he declares. Just like that the noise and flurry in the room double.

I’m appreciating that display of leadership when he turns to me. “You look spiffin’, Puff.” The prefect shifts closer, his usual loose dreadlocks pulled up into a ponytail, a coy smirk at the edge of his lips. “Are you seeing anyone, by chance?”

My eyebrows are up, and if it wasn’t for a groan coming from Dalton, I think I would’ve hung my mouth open.

“Being direct tonight, are we, Curtis?” Dalton mutters, rolling his eyes. His words are still audible despite the commotion in the room, and I’m worried others would hear but—

Nobody else seems to be bothered.

Dalton laughs, and I guess I didn’t hide my expression as well as I thought. Emory finishes getting ready, coming over to the sofas with Cassius in stride, and I clamp my mouth shut.

“Didn’t you notice he’s been flirting with you?” Dalton’s still laughing. None of them are trying to be discreet.

I’m floored, but outwardly I raise a slow eyebrow at the prefect. “Really?”

Addison shrugs. Then grins unapologetically. “You’re immune to my charms, Bain,” he consents, “which is refreshing.”

“It’s not refreshing if it happens all the time, Curtis,” Harvey deadpans, not looking up.

Those who caught the words laughs, and I laugh along, relieved because— _it happens all the time_. From the sofa opposite, I catch Cassius’s eyes, and he gives me his Cheshire smile. I know I’m more embarrassed than I’m letting on, ‘cause when I look away, my face is hot. Addison goes on to mention how he’s flirted with everybody in school at least once, even the professors.

“Even Dalton?” I venture.

The guy himself snorts. “Even Dalton,” Dalton confirms. “Curt’s shameless.”

I drain my glass as Addison checks his watch again, revelling in the teasing. He claps again, once, just as the clock on the wall chimes six, and begins ushering students out.

We’re to be in the Great Hall by six thirty. Seated and well-mannered by six forty-five. Then, sharp at seven, the festivities will officially begin.

But I have my own plan in mind.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I miss writing.  
> Half of the year is gone already, but I’ve only read 7 out of the 30 books in my reading challenge. (3 books, 3 short stories and 1 webtoon to be exact.) I’m still stuck in the same job, stuck tighter now, with everything. I still have the same incomplete WIPs I’ve had for years. The same debts. The same longings.  
> But, I’m breathing. And _[if there’s a reason I’m still alive when so many have died](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ulsLI029rH0)_... Well.  
> This update’s more to assure those who subscribed (to this story, to me in general) that I’m still here. Thus far the story stands at 14.9k words in my doc. At the time of posting this chapter, I wrote a new one (set maybe 15 chapters in?) that’s more relevant to everything that’s happening in our world right now. I hope you’ll get to read it eventually.  
> Thank you for staying.


	9. “I have it all figured out.”

_November_

We acquire a table near the stage and the band.

“Professor Normandy outdid himself this year,” Emory muses in awe beside me, and I have to agree.

The Great Hall’s been transformed. The rows of long tables have been replaced with circular, marble ones, dotting the outline of the hall to allow a big space in the middle for dancing. Streamers and balloons that change colour hang intricately on the walls. Looking up, the ceiling’s been charmed a starry midnight and, looking closer, the constellation Ophiuchus can be seen, though that shouldn’t have been possible. Up on the stage where the professors usually sit a live band is playing jazzy tunes to ease us into the mood.

There are already light appetizers served, and while the others are distracted with the food (Dalton’s wolfing down a whole platter of breadsticks, Addison’s swirling the innocent punch in his glass disdainfully), I excuse myself. Strolling unhurriedly out, I catch a glimpse of my friends seated nearer to the dance floor. (Sally and Mika are debating about something, again. A guy I think is Yuzu’s boyfriend Joel is sitting next to her, making her laugh.) They look different, _good_ different, all dressed up like we’re not used to, but though my heart’s aching to join them, I don’t.

Instead, I sneak back into the Slytherin common room.

It’s empty. Surprising—because I can’t believe they’re all being obedient. Unsurprising—because events like the Halloween party’s really their time to shine.

I’m doing my best to be quiet, hoisting a chair from one of the study tables all the way to the fireplace, and I guess what I really can’t believe is how childish I’m being.

_All this to look at a picture, Tómi? Really?_

But I can’t help it. I gotta figure out what’s being depicted in that picture. The blue one. (Okay, _greenish_ -blue one.) The one with the weirdly shaped blobs. It feels too out of place, smacked in the midst of its serpent-imaged or good-looking-self-portrait brethren.

If anyone catches me, I’d just say I misplaced my tie. ( _Why_ it would be on the mantel of all places can be accounted to the illegal after-curfew _soirées_.) (I have it all figured out.)

I step on the chair and wobble a bit. Dust is coating the mantel and on the frames of the pictures and I don’t want to grip anything lest I leave evidence (of my immature pursuit). I stand as far on the edge of the chair as I dare, and lean in.

Dang, who drew this? Now that I’m finally the closest I can be, I see that the weirdly shaped blobs are actually _fish_ -shaped blobs. And the blue tint of the whole thing’s because it’s showing a scene underwater. The surface of the picture is bumpy, textured, and I throw caution to the wind to run a finger over it. Sure enough, a flake of blue paint comes off, sticking to my finger, and I rub it in disbelief. Even as I stare at it, the surface glints subtly, reflecting light like that of real water. It’s so _weird_ , it’s so cool. I’m still squinting hard at the picture—the _painting_ —when a voice says, “What are you doing?”

I startle as gracefully as a blowfish, registering the amused expression of Cassius standing by the doorway in time before my foot catches on air and—Oh, great.

_Exchange student breaks leg on rule-breaking endeavour. Humiliates entire House._

I shut my eyes as I fall but—

I don’t land. I open my eyes.

And I’m floating.

Down. Slowly.

In five seconds the tips of my toes touch the floor. And I’m standing straight again unhurt.

From the doorway, Cassius grins at me, his wand out. _How_ —

“I didn’t hear you say a spell.”

He’s smirking now. Puts his wand away. “Don’t need to.”

I turn from his gaze as he approaches, my body warm. (For fuck’s sake, Tómithy.)

“You like my underwater painting?”

I whip my head back around. “You— _You_ painted _that_?”

Cassius doesn’t seem to take offence at my tone. He leans back against the mantel, his thumbs tucked snugly in his pockets. “Uh huh,” he says, and I hear that restrained pride. “Still my greatest work to date, two years later.”

I’m trying to figure his age out now. At least fourth year, surely. Maybe sixth?

He looks up at it over his shoulder, and his face softens. Back at me, and his expression doesn’t change. “Can you guess what’s it supposed to be?”

This clears my head. I return my eyes to the painting, pursing my lips. “It’s... the lake, isn’t it?” I venture, glancing out a window at a glimpse of the real one outside. “It’s this common room but literally out in the lake—without the walls and the ceiling? And that—” I squint at a little fish-shaped blob that’s wearing a badge and sporting a familiar-looking hairstyle. “Is that supposed to be Addison?” Even as I’m saying it, I’m squinting at another blob that looks suspiciously like Dalton. Then a squishy one that might’ve been Emory. Then a bored-looking bespectacled one that was _definitely_ Harvey—

I turn in surprise at the sound of guffaws.

“Oh centaurs,” Cassius is laughing. “You’re the first to notice.”

_Cute._

Shit, what?

“I can’t be the first...” I argue distractedly.

Cassius doesn’t try to hide his mirth. “But you are. Nobody else cares to look at this painting hard enough. I’ve been hoping for Curt to see and yell at me for two years, but alas.”

_So he painted a picture of his friends and they didn’t notice?_

“What are you doing back here anyway?” I ask when he wipes the last of his laughter from his eye. It occurs to me then that I’ve never really had a proper conversation with him. I’m also trying not to remember that we are currently very much alone.

“Oh.” His smile turns sheepish. Reaching around, he grabs something off the mantel, and I wonder why I didn’t notice it there before. “Forgot my tie,” he says, looking too embarrassed to be lying. “I swear the champagne’s the reason it got there.”

_He has it all figured out._

I swing a little back and forth, trying to decide whether to leave. “You know,” I say, glancing back at his painting. “Maybe you should hang it somewhere more prominent.”

Cassius drapes his tie over his shoulders, and my eyes follow the movement. “Nah, it’s fine. It’s one of many.”

“One of many?” I echo.

He nods, pushes his shirt collar up from under his jacket and—I’m staring, aren’t I?

We’re allowed to wear our own clothes for the dinner. I don’t have anything fancy (also, I don’t want to stand out) so I’m sporting a light blue button-down with a pair of corduroys (they’re second-hand but you can’t tell). Cassius’s wearing a simple suit—white shirt with dark blue jacket and same-coloured trousers. It’s not as extravagant as Addison’s red velvet or Dalton’s full tux (go big or go home) but it looks good. He looks good. And when we stand side by side like this in these clothes, I can’t help thinking— _We match_.

“I’ll show them to you sometime,” Cassius says.

“What?” I blab.

He laughs. “My artwork. You can check them out when you’re free. If you’d like to, of course,” he adds, modestly.

“Oh. Sure,” I say, and look away as his fingers tighten the knot at his throat.

“We can grab coffee, too, while we’re at it. Make it a date,” he finishes smoothly, giving me a wink, and just like that I’m forcefully reminded of where I am. Of who he is. Of who _I_ am.

I swing back.

“I’m famished,” I declare. “They’re probably serving the main course by now.”

Cassius’s expression falters—( _Good_.)—then composes, and he gestures towards the door with that playful Cheshire smile of his in place.

“Shall we head back to the party, then?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I love my dramatic son.  
> Here’s a [fun fact about the constellation](https://earthsky.org/astronomy-essentials/born-between-november-29-and-december-18-heres-your-constellation) I mentioned:  
> “In Greek sky lore, Ophiuchus represents Asclepius – said to have been the first doctor – always depicted holding a great serpent or snake. Depending on how it’s used, a snake’s venom can either kill or cure. It’s said that Asclepius concocted a potion from this snake venom, the blood of the Gorgon monster and an unknown herb to bring the dead back to life. This greatly alarmed the gods as it threatened to undo the natural order of things. (…) The name Ophiuchus comes from two Greek words meaning _serpent_ and _holding_.”  
> Now ain’t that just the most Slytherpuffy thing?  
> With that said, a lot of things are happening in our world right now… and I can only hope that these, too, shall pass.  
> Thank you for reading.


	10. "Inter-House romances are all the rage now, huh?"

_November_

When we return, we make sure it’s to conversation and music.

I don’t comment when my previous seat’s been taken, or when Cassius takes the one right by my side now. From across the table, Dalton raises an eyebrow at me, and I try to shrug as nonchalantly as I can manage. Addison the prefect merely tuts in disapproval.

The main course is served, and I dig in.

We’ve missed the opening speeches (oh, _no_ ) and the first act of a string of performances. (It was some Ravenclaw kid doing fancy tricks with his wand.) (A magic show at a magic school? Okay.) As I savour my potatoes, the second performer takes the stage.

The performer looks familiar, and it’s only after registering the reaction of the others at my table do I realise who she is: Jaina, the Slytherin Exchange student. She’s playing her violin—something sombre, something nostalgic—and the Slytherins at my table are enraptured. It’s nice, this tender music accompanying us as we dine. Emory quietly voices the suggestion to go compliment her after she finishes, which the others readily agree. They don’t take their attention off of her. It’s nice...

They really do miss her, don’t they?

I crane my neck, scanning the floor away from the stage, until I spot the table where my friends are sitting. ( _Did Jaina sit with her adoptive House, too_?) They’re not watching Jaina, but are laughing at something funny that Mika might have said. Cassius catches me staring, and I smile at him, but it’s my Hufflepuff smile, and though the ceiling’s a starry midnight and the music is beautiful, I think the lights in here might be too bright, for my eyes are watering.

Jaina finishes her performance to warm applause, the jazz band takes back the limelight for an interlude, and the Slytherins at my table start to rise. I take another bite of my potatoes, stalling, then slowly rise with them. But as they head for the side of the stage, I walk the opposite way.

I reach my friends’ table just as Yuzu is getting up, pulling at her boyfriend Joel’s hand, giggling.

“Tómi!” She spots me, lets go of Joel to rush for a hug, and I’m laughing now, too.

“You look cute,” I remark, appraising her polka-dot dress.

Yuzu twirls. She’s in a great mood. “We should dance!” she gushes, clasping my hand. “Oh, but Jo’s got my first.” A tinge of pink colours her cheeks as she smiles at her date.

I return a similar nod of greeting at Joel. It’s the first time we’re meeting, though Yuzu’s shared stories with me. He’s older than us and, if I remember right, the bloke’s a Gryffindor. (Inter-House romances are all the rage now, huh?)

“Well,” Joel says, and is it the bright lights again or was that a grimace? “Better get to it.” Without another word, he takes Yuzu’s hand and leads her to the middle of the hall, where a few couples are already swaying.

I sit on his chair.

The other two seem to know what I’m thinking without me voicing it.

Salma crinkles her nose. “Don’t like him. Don’t think he likes me much, either.”

“I’d punch him in the bloody face if he likes you while liking Yuzu,” Mikael proclaims, and the words would’ve been heroic, had he not been stuffing his own face with chicken nuggets just then.

Heavens, _I’ve_ missed them.

“You two look fabulous, by the way,” I say, wiggling my eyebrows.

Salma snorts. “This whole event’s ridiculous. Where’s your tie?”

I recall the nice one draping over Cassius’s shoulders. Shake my head. “Don’t have one.”

“Good,” Sally nods, “we’ll get you one for Christmas, then.”

Mikael grunts in agreement, a piece of chicken flying out of his mouth.

I laugh, genuinely laugh, and sit with them through the whole of the third performance (an EDM rendition of the Hogwarts School song). (Who comes up with these things?) Yuzu and Joel return to the table in the middle of the fourth (it’s a professor this time, challenging the audience to name a creature she can’t Transfigure a rabbit into), and I reluctantly get up.

“I’ll see you guys later, then?” I say, and hope they don’t hear the desperation.

Yuzu beams at me. “Save me a dance! Sally too—”

“I don’t dance,” Sally says.

“Okay, Mika then—”

“Yuzu, darling,” Mikael says through a mouthful of nuggets (it must be a school record how many he’s eaten by now), “I’d more willingly dance with the ugliest Slytherin than with Tómi—” He cuts off ‘cause I shove him off his chair, suit and tie and all.

I huff as Yuzu and Sally and those seated nearby laugh at Mika splayed ungracefully out on the floor. (Why am I so fond of an idiot?) “Well then.” I’m stalling again. Yuzu helps Mika up and pats him clean. Undeterred, he goes right back to stuffing his face. “Well then,” I repeat. I feel awkward standing in a room of people sitting, wearing clothes I’m not used to. I gesture vaguely to the front just as the professor Transfigures the rabbit into a turtle. “My table’s... right over near the stage, if you guys wanna come by... to chat... or something.” (Sweet selkies, why am _I_ an idiot?)

“You’re sitting with the snakes, right?” Salma asks, and she’s crinkling her nose again.

I shrug.

“Okay, Tómi,” Yuzu says, her voice gentle like she knows. “We’ll see you.”

I nod, then head back the way I came.

When I settle back into my seat at the Slytherin table, I find myself avoiding their eyes. I find my skin crawling.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I managed to name all the Houses in one short chapter, woohoo.  
> Any and all comments on this lil ol’ story are very much appreciated. <3  
> Thanks for reading!


	11. “I’m not friendly at all, am I?”

_November_

“So what do you think about it, Tómithy, my good fellow?” Dalton demands.

We’re well into the second half of the Halloween party, and the Slytherins are talking to me normally like I didn’t ditch them for a quarter of it. The fifth, and then the sixth performances have come and gone. The seventh and last performer is on the stage now, singing a soulful ballad. And it’s great, but there’s buzzing in the air like everyone’s waiting for it to be over.

“About what?” I ask back, licking whipped cream from my pie off my finger.

The first round of desserts has been served, and Dalton talks as he stuffs his face with cup after cup of caramel pudding. (I smile at the familiar sight, despite myself.) “They say Curt’s a shoo-in for Halloween King again this year.” Either his sentence or the pudding causes the insulted expression on his face.

“Would that be the third time, then?” Harvey drawls. He looks exceptionally bored without his phone.

Addison gives him a finger gun. “The exact charm.”

Oh, right. The Halloween King and Queen. That silly election-based popularity contest. (I think even the _professors_ vote, what do you think about _that_?) No wonder everyone in the hall’s impatient.

Dalton takes an aggressive scoop of pudding. “Quidditch players have an unfair advantage.”

“Huh,” I mutter, mostly to myself, “I _did_ vote for Mikael...” I don’t really care who’s who in the student body, so I usually end up picking Mika for King and Yuzu for Queen just to get it over with. (Sorry, Sally.)

“Who’s Michael?” Emory asks in his small voice while Dalton continues to grumble.

“Mikael,” I correct automatically. “Um, my best friend. He’s a Beater.”

“I know him,” Addison pipes. “The loud one, right? The one that’s always falling on his face? I’ve seen him in practices.”

I’m laughing, liking the conversation. “That’s the one.”

“He’s not bad,” Addison admits, grudgingly, and I feel a surge of pride for Mika. “He’s fearless.”

“He’s thick-headed,” I correct, but my grin is giving me away. “He’ll block a Bludger with his own skull if desperate enough.”

Addison laughs. “That, I don’t doubt.”

I take another bite of pie with glee. _Wait till Mika hears what Addison said_ , I’m thinking. And my grin fades and suddenly the pie tastes bitter ‘cause— _Would Mika say the same of Addison?_

“Your friends look fun,” Cassius notes by my side, rousing me. He’s tackling three scoops of rainbow-coloured ice-cream. “You should introduce them to us sometime. We don’t have many acquaintances outside of Slytherin.” He gives a sideways pointed look at the others. “We’re not that friendly.”

“ _We’re_ not friendly?” Dalton scoffs.

“Hufflepuffs are the friendliest, right?” Cassius presses on, smiling at me.

“I wouldn’t use ‘friendly’ to describe Bain though,” someone mumbles. I catch it, but Harvey doesn’t seem sorry he said it. “No offence, Bain.”

“None taken,” I reply quietly, because it’s true. I’m _not_ friendly. I’m not friendly at all, am I?

The conversation paters off as Dalton hoards all the pudding to himself (“You’re going to run the school dry,” Addison clucks) and the performer finishes her song with excited applause that it finished. The band takes back the stage for the final interlude, and the hall at large waits for Professor Normandy.

I reach for my drink (watermelon juice) and take a sip (it’s bland, but I like it) and that’s when I see Cassius glancing at the others like he’s worried they might catch him. He leans into me.

“Hey, uh, Tómithy...?” he tests. For some reason he’s whispering.

“Yes...?” I allow, in the same tone. I glance at the others too (no one’s paying us any attention), and when I turn back, he’s leaning closer.

“Here.” From under the table, with exaggerated surreptitiousness, he reveals a single cup of caramel pudding. “I swiped one from Dalton’s pile.”

I almost spill my juice—I can’t believe I’m giggling.

“Here,” Cassius repeats in that conspiratorial whisper, grinning wide. “It’s for you.”

I accept it, trying to stifle my laughter as I shift the pudding from his lap to mine. “Thanks,” I say, and I look into his eyes ‘cause I mean it.

 _He’s gorgeous_ —

“You’re welcome,” Cassius says, mirth in his voice.

He’s so close. Something moves, and I look up at his hair. He’s slicked it back. But a stray strand drops across his forehead. I look at it, fingers twitching. Look back down and he hasn’t averted his gaze. I wait for him to smirk, or give me that signature Slytherin wink. But instead he smiles, and the way his eyes crinkle is the same as when he’s looking at the painting of his friends.

I take another sip. Finish off my pie. Peel open the cup of pudding as discreetly as I can and have a taste. It melts on my tongue—and Addison must’ve done something to the drinks on our table, ‘cause I’m feeling warm and heady.

Professor Normandy ascends the steps to the stage, and the noise in the hall double. “It’s time!” Dalton gushes.

“My dear students!” the professor begins excitedly over the chatter. “I hope you’ve enjoyed the evening so far! We have now arrived at the agenda that a good lot of us have been waiting for!” The History of Magic professor is practically bouncing on his toes.

With a flourish, a huge banner materialises on the wall behind the professor. In neon, changing colours, it reads: _Hogwarts Annual Halloween Jamboree—Coronation of Royalty._

“‘ _Jamboree’_?” Harvey snorts.

“‘ _Royalty’_!” Dalton squeals.

On either side of the professor, a lavish stand appears, each with an identical silver crown sitting atop encased in glass. To his left, the mahogany stand is engraved with the block letters _Queen_. To his right, _King_.

Professor Normandy waves his hand, and where it was empty, it now holds a card. There’s not a microphone in sight, but his voice carries over the cheers. “Drumroll, please!”

The jazz band obliges readily, and with an exclaim that rattles my own lungs, Professor Normandy says, “I am happy to announce this year’s Halloween King… Curtis Addison!”

The cheers erupt further. Addison pretends to be surprised.

“ _Aww_ ,” Dalton whines as the prefect sashays onto the stage. He pouts down at his tuxedo like it had failed him.

“Don’t fret, Dal,” Cassius chirps from beside me, “you might still get Queen.”

I almost spill my watermelon juice again laughing as Dalton’s face brightens at the prospect. (I gotta put down my glass, but it keeps refilling and _towering tropical trolls_ is it getting hot in here or…?) (From my peripheral vision I see Cassius looking over proudly at my laughter... and did he scoot closer when I wasn’t paying attention or…???)

Professor Normandy announces the Queen (a sixth year from Gryffindor named Naya, who has eyes like polished river stones and was ironically the earlier seventh performer) and Dalton deflates into his seat as Normandy crowns them.

“There should be a Halloween Prince and Princess too, don’t you think?” he mutters in his pout.

“You still won’t get either title, either way,” Harvey observes unfeelingly.

Dalton sticks his tongue out at him, and the gesture reminds me so much of Mikael that I feel my expression soften. (Again, why am I fond of idiots?)

Naya takes the stage for a well-deserved encore as Addison returns to our table with his crown and his sass. “Today henceforth I shall respond to no other appellation than ‘Your Highness’. Rise, peasants.”

Nobody rises. Harvey chucks a cherry off his banana split at the crown.

“Blasphemous,” Addison tuts, sitting down, crown askew.

The party goes on with a last hurrah of final dances and we have a great time. (Like, I’m not even being sarcastic. I’m really, surprisingly enjoying myself. In a social event. Imagine that.) Above us, a burst of stars shoots across the magicked ceiling, eliciting awed gasps. When Naya finishes her song (she’s changed it to a powerful Broadway number à la Barbra Streisand), the band takes up their upbeat tempo again and both students and staff throng to the dance floor. I see Yuzu with Joel. Mikael with his Quidditch-mates. Addison leaves his crown with us as he’s pulled to dance with three people at once, and we take turns trying it on and making sacrilegious remarks at each other.

I’m last to try the crown. Cassius puts it on me in slo-mo, dramatic and playful.

“Hmm,” he hums, looking me over, a smirk teasing the corner of his mouth. “You would’ve got Halloween Prince.”

“Uh-huh,” I say, body heating up though no alcohol was in the glass in my hand. “Thanks, Princess.”

I hear Emory giggle as Dalton grumbles, “Get a room.” Then, an angrier grumble: “ _I_ would’ve got Princess.”

I burst out laughing, and like Chekhov’s gun I finally do spill my drink this time. Cassius spells it gone ( _non-verbally_ ) before it reaches my shirt. I look up to thank him but he’s holding out his hand like he’s offering it and there’s something in his eyes that tells me he’s about to ask me to—

“Be right back,” I blurt. Before he can stop me, I spring up and excuse myself for the gents.

I cross the dance floor hyped at full swing, bumping into two or three shoulders. The music makes my heart thunder. (That’s right. It’s the music. The music, right?) I pass Yuzu, her face nestled in Joel’s neck. Distantly register my surprise at that show of intimacy as I bump another shoulder.

It’s when this last one hisses at me to watch where I’m going that I force myself to slow down. I mentioned the gents, but I’d been heading for the exit. ( _Flight response_.)

I slow my pace but don’t change my direction.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Phewww, a long-ish chapter.  
> I’ve written and rewritten this on-and-off for at least 3 months now. The earliest drafts had the Halloween Queen unnamed. Then news, the world, and the process of life and sudden death happened… and now she is named. Her performance for “Don’t Rain On My Parade” has always been the most memorable to me. It’s a small tribute, but it’s my way of honouring her memory. By the time I’m publishing this chapter, there are more names I wish to give tribute to, more names that had chipped away a piece of my heart. I’m afraid with how slow I’m updating this story, the number of names I wish to carry over from reality will eventually be overwhelming… I hope that won’t be the case.  
> I’ve got most of the next chapter finished (it’s a short one). All of you who left kudos and comments are very much appreciated. <3  
> Thank you for reading.


	12. “It’s in the books.”

_November_

Once out of the Hall, I keep walking.

When I’m far enough that the music dulls into wordless bass, I force myself to stop, ‘cause I’m panting hard, and I’m hating myself for feeling this way, reacting like this. I reach up to run a hand through my hair (maybe pull out some strands just for drama’s sake) and that’s when I realise I’m still wearing Addison’s Halloween King crown, and my nerves become embarrassment. I take it off. The jewel-encrusted silver piece of metal weighs almost nothing in my hand, and I wonder whether there was a point in anything at all.

Passing me by are straggles of early party leavers, too, and I join them. They’re in ones or twos heading back to their dorms (or taking advantage of a rare no-curfew night to sneak off to who knows where). The pathways branching out and away from the Great Hall are mostly empty, so everything’s echoey. The music’s a dull thumping, but I can still hear it as it carries. I can hear each of my footsteps as they try to escape truth. I hear—

“ _It’s ridiculous_!”

—a girl’s shout, her tone scandalised, and off one dimly lit corridor I see her.

It’s a girl in a blue dress, gathering stragglers like curious moths to a yelling flame. Usually I try to stay out of outbursts and public confrontations like this one. But I recognise the girl—the fourth year Ravenclaw Exchange student sent over to Hufflepuff—and she’s screaming in the face of Headmistress Parrocleft.

A small crowd has already formed. I spot Salma beside her friend Christy on the outer edge (early leavers), and head towards them.

“Tómi,” Salma murmurs when she sees me. She sounds worried. (Which makes _me_ worried, ‘cause Sally’s rarely nervous.)

“What’s going on?” I ask. “Why’s Clemence so angry?” I catch snippets of the shouting— _injustice_ , _undeserved_ , _waste of my time_.

“Clem’s essay was the best in Novak’s last assignment.” Christy nods at me in greeting. (I don’t usually have the chance to interact with her since we’re just friends-of-friends, but I have seen why Sally likes her.) “Novak awarded her points for it,” Christy continues, pursing her lips. “But...” she trails off just as Clemence’s voice rises again.

“Why should _they_ get the points _I_ earned?!”

Even from here I notice the sweat dripping down Parrocleft’s temple. She wipes it off. “Miss Cannady, I understand your concern on the terms and intricacies of the Exchange. However, it’s in the books: Points earned during the Exchange period shall be credited into the host house. This is aimed to better encompass the spirit of camaraderie between—”

“I’ll be returning to my true House after!” Clemence wails. “It’s not fair!”

 _Fair_ , my mind repeats like a drum, and then— _True House_.

Parrocleft glances around and sees how big the crowd has formed. She catches my eye, and for a moment I’m afraid she’d drag me into the debate or attempt to persuade _me_ of her stand, too.

But the next moment she’s turning back to Clemence, making hasty gestures and speaking under her breath, and the two go off to resume their discussion somewhere more private, while the crowd—me, Salma, Christy—disperses.

And the night of the Halloween party ends.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So ends the Halloween arc. (I wasn’t intending to have one lol but there you go.)  
> If anyone’s curious, Clemence the Ravenclaw was wearing [a blue backless gown](https://bcf3d63ed0f48b2360ca-8a5d95a0ac3eb481da0931c0435c4b93.ssl.cf2.rackcdn.com/product-hugerect-811968-221917-1477298647-df779892e81782722efe3fc1f9e42613.jpg), and Yuzu was wearing [a yellow polka-dot A-line](https://ae01.alicdn.com/kf/HTB1zB5HKeuSBuNjSsziq6zq8pXab/Hot-Sale-Womne-Fashion-Drees-Vintage-Hepburn-Style-50s-Sexy-Yellow-Dots-Print-Tapered-Waist-Dress.jpg). One colour or die, my dudes.  
> Thanks for reading!  
> P.S. List of Characters ([“chapter 5”](https://archiveofourown.org/works/21985969/chapters/53525158)) updated! (+ some non-spoilery info and characters as yet unrevealed)


	13. Dream

_December – A dream_

The night is deep. It takes a while for Dalton’s voice to reach me. (Maybe ‘cause I might be drunk? I might be drunk. I don’t know.) We’re the only two left. The fire in the hearth’s barely burning. I look over and he’s red-faced, utterly trashed. ( _What_ are in these bottles?)

“Tómithy, my friend,” he’s saying, and I expect him to give me a shit-eating grin, but his face is solemn. The crackle of the fire quietens to hear him speak. “Don’t you think you fit right as a puzzle here?”

I know I’m tipsy now ‘cause I don’t have a meltdown like I usually do. “How do you mean?” I ask.

He studies me—I see that glint of intelligence that he prefers to keep hidden—and a little of the severity in his expression fades. “You value what you say,” he remarks softly. “Like we do.”

Despite my haze, the words hit me. My temple is pulsing. My mind whirls. And I’m trying—

I’m trying not to think of all the times Mikael promised to do something—with me, for me—but didn’t. I’m trying not to remember all the times Salma said something that was hurtful solely because she’d said it carelessly. I’m trying not to recall how Yuzu admitted to using nicknames ‘cause she thinks full names take too much time to say. (Not that she thought it would foster intimacy, no. _It took too much time to pronounce extra syllables_.)

“And you think too much,” Dalton goes on, laughing. “Your thinking face is funny, did you know?”

I make a face at him that makes him laugh harder. “Git,” I say—and for a horrible nanosecond I’m scared he would take offence after our talk of meaning what we say.

But Dalton just grins wider at me. “Prat.”

The night is deep, my mind’s buzzing. The fire in the hearth’s barely burning, but I’m not cold. I fall asleep right there on the sofa, and I think I dream.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Don’t worry, this is just a little abstract insert, not a timeskip. :) Going back to the chronological November in the next chapter.  
> Thanks for reading!


	14. “Are you sure you’re a Puff?”

_November_

I’m in my favourite spot at the library.

It’s at a small table near the back, nestled in one of the many nooks between towering bookshelves. The place is dim at night, but there are windows here, and it’s still early afternoon. Being here usually relaxes me, but right now I can’t help feeling far from relaxed.

I heave a sigh. It’s been two days since the night of the Halloween party. I’ve been spending most of that time in the library, _trying_ to study. Copies of Salma’s notes are strewn in front of me, but the letters and numbers and symbols swirl around and I can’t make sense of them at all. Honestly, I think I might just cry. There’s no one nearby, so I heave another great sigh and turn to the windows.

I can see the Forbidden Forest. As I watch, a centaur moves into view. He’s tanned with dark hair that reaches his shoulders. He clops around a while, like he’s looking for something among the bushes. Then he turns his head and looks right at me and my heart stutters.

Of course, he doesn’t really see me. (I guess I’m not really seeing him either?) As I keep watching, the glass of the windows ripple. The centaur and Forest melt from view and now I’m staring out at the Quidditch pitch. A handful of students are practising.

I’m sitting wondering whether I’d spot Mikael when I hear a voice.

“You didn’t come back.”

My heart stutters again (that weakling) and I hate how I don’t need to turn around to know who spoke.

Cassius puts his textbooks on the table, careful to not disturb my notes, and takes the seat next to mine.

Shit. It’s been two days since the night of the Halloween party, and I’ve been spending most of that time trying to avoid him. I don’t want to look at him, but I don’t want to be rude even more, so I grit my teeth, turning in my seat, ready to apologise for ditching him—

But Cassius is smirking at me. “You know,” he coos, “I’m a bit thick about these things. Was I supposed to follow?”

My apology is forgotten. I’m at a loss for words. I think it’s the—holy _shit_ —he’s not offended?

The cool sunlight from the windows filter in onto his face. His smirk settles into a smile. His hair is the same colour as the centaur’s. And for a moment, I can’t remember why I’d run away.

Cassius shuffles his books on the table. “I drew something for you.”

He’s handing me a small piece of paper before my mind has time to gather its wits enough to form a coherent reply. (I’m incredulous, again, at how much of a buffoon I actually am.) It’s a teared off corner from a scroll of parchment. In smooth ink depicts what looks like a knight wearing a cape and a crown, a sword at his hip. At his feet, a little amphibian blob sits, the curve of a line on its face indicating that it’s smiling. Even as I watch, the drawing shifts. And now the crowned knight’s unsheathed his sword, and the little blob’s sticking its tongue out at me.

I feel the sunlight around us getting warm. “The Prince... and the Frog?”

“Yes!” Cassius confirms excitedly. “You’re the Prince, of course.”

“Of course,” I echo. _His eyes are lighter_. “And the Frog’s… you?”

“Yep,” Cassius says, giving me a wink. “You’re supposed to kiss me to transform me back.”

“Is that so?” I wonder how my voice is so steady while my hand holding the drawing trembles. “And you’ll turn back into... the Princess?”

“Uh-huh.” Cassius grins, and I wonder how much experience he’s had to be this calm.

I feel myself sober from the thought. “Right.” I make the word sound final. My hand has stopped trembling. “It’s a nice drawing.” I slip the scrap of paper away in one of my books and give him a smile. “Well, thank you.”

Seeing him blinking nonplussed is satisfying, I’ll admit that. I’m turning away to end the conversation when his grin returns.

“Ow.” He places a hand on his chest like he’s hurt, but there’s mischief in his eyes. I catch his next words like a siren blaring through a tunnel. “Are you sure you’re a Puff?”

I hear something falling to the floor with a bang—A startled yelp—

I’m suddenly standing. My chair’s fallen back. Cassius is farther away, staring at me with wide eyes.

“I—I’m sorry,” he stammers. “Did I say something I shouldn’t have?” It’s the first time I’m seeing him discomposed.

_That’s right. That’s it. I remember now._

I’m gathering my things when I realise I’m breathing hard. It’s hard to breathe—

“Tómithy—”

I clutch at my books and shake my head at him. I don’t have enough hands to pick up the chair. So I just leave.

Leave it.

Leave him.

_Leave me._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My poor son lol.  
> Apologies if it’s confusing or a lil too abstract. I like being a lil too abstract a lil too much. Hope you’re still following the story tho! It’ll all make sense eventually.  
> When I posted the first chapter of this fic, I’d wished you guys a Merry Christmas and Happy New Year. Here I am, one year later, expressing the same sentiments. Time flew by both alarmingly fast and excruciatingly slow this year. Personally, I’m more than ready for 2020 to get the fuck lost.  
> Merry Christmas, Happy New Year, and thank you so much for reading.


	15. “It strikes back.”

_November_

“Are you guys having a row?”

Dalton has his arm out, blocking my way. I frown at being intercepted so brashly on the way to my room. (Well, _our_ room. I guess I would’ve been jumped eventually.)

It’s been a week since the library incident. A week since I last spoke to Cassius. (Yikes. I know.) I’d started rejecting the soirée invites again, not willing to while away the nights awkwardly avoiding eye contact if he was there too. The others were bound to notice.

“What did you do to him?” Dalton demands again. He’s serious, for once.

I fidget, looking around the common room. Of course, Cassius wasn’t here, and those who were hanging around don’t seem interested in our confrontation.

“What makes you think _I’m_ the one to blame?” I counter shamelessly. In saying this, I didn’t deny that Cassius and I _were_ fighting. Belatedly I realise Dalton hadn’t mentioned names, but in a panic I’d exposed myself. Horrible horned hippogriff, someone punch me.

“Please.” Dalton doesn’t hide his eye-roll. “Cass is incapable of hurting a fly.”

I switch tracks. “Don’t worry about it,” I say, worried about it. “Everything’s fine.” Everything wasn’t fine.

Dalton squints at me doubtfully. Then, his angry expression slowly melts to a sadder one. “He hasn’t been spending time out of his room. He’s not been joining our evening gatherings either. Emory told me he said he didn’t want to upset anyone by attending or showing his face places.”

Undiluted guilt roils in my stomach. _He’s been stowing himself away in his room to avoid seeing me_? I recall the usually cheerful Cassius— _Cassius with his bright eyes_ , _Cassius handing me a cup of pudding_ , _Cassius doodling me something in class when he should’ve been paying attention_ —and bite my lip. “I’ll take care of it,” I tell Dalton.

Dalton shakes his head like he knows I’m lying. He swipes a forgotten bottle from last night off a table and drinks it straight from the mouth. “First Curt and Harvey, now you two…”

Despite myself, curiosity sparks at the words. “Addison and Harvey?” Once more, I glance around the common room to see if anyone’s listening in. There’s a small group of first years playing wizard’s chess near the fire. They’re paying us no mind.

Dalton sighs extraordinary. “I don’t know what’s going on with them, but they’ve been strange ever since coming back late from the Halloween party that night. _Super_ late, if I may emphasise. Like, their clothes were all rumpled and dirty and Curt’s been quieter than I’ve ever seen him in the past five years and I haven’t seen Harvey touching his phone since! Have you?”

I open and close my mouth at answering the question. So Addison and Harvey were like _that_? Damn, talk about Slytherin stealth. (Yet… when I think back on it, there _had_ been signs.)

“I reckon they got in a fight too,” Dalton continues, and I’m almost pitying at how sincerely worried he sounds. “Curt’s ruthless when he’s irate.”

I’m about to reassure him there’s nothing to be concerned about when like the devil himself the prefect in question storms into the common room and zeroes in right at me—like he knew where I would be like how predators always knew where their prey were.

I’ve backtracked three steps on impulse by the time he reaches me.

“Are you two having a row?”

Over the prefect’s shoulder, Dalton makes a comical face at the familiar words that I can’t laugh at presently—‘cause Addison’s eyes are fierce. (I’m reminded again at how _tall_ he is. He dwarfs me.)

I stammer my weak defences only to be cut off.

“Listen, Bain,” Addison begins, and under his stern gaze and powerful voice I perceive the things that have made him such a capable prefect. “You hurt one of us, you hurt all of us. And do you know what happens to a stricken serpent?”

“Uh—”

“It strikes _back_.” Like a warning shot, Addison jabs a finger at my chest. The force of the single stab seems enough to crush my ribs. “Do you understand?”

“Yes.” _Shit_. “Crystal clear.”

Addison looks unconvinced, but he pulls away and I take a breath like a drowning man resurfacing. At the fire, the group of first years had grown quiet, all eyes on us. Addison barks at them, “Carry on.” They jump like frightened moles and spin back to their game.

I rub my chest, pouting. “Did you have to go that hard?” I mumble.

Addison raises an unimpressed eyebrow, but his fire has subsided. “Just don’t make Cassie sad. It’s not the same without his smiles.”

 _Cassie_?

Dalton says something to Addison, but I’m already zoning out. Dalton… Addison… I guess even Emory and Harvey… They all probably hate me right now. _I_ hate me right now. The pain in my chest throbs. _You hurt one of us, you hurt all of us_. I think… Maybe I would have reacted the same way too if someone were to make Yuzu cry.

I clench my fists.

“I’ll fix it.”

Whatever conversation Dalton and Addison were having dissipates at my words. Addison gives me a look that said, _You better_. Dalton gives me a thumbs-up.

Right. It’s time for me to apologise.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not @ me already having ideas for a spin-off for this fic when it’s not even done skksjkskk  
> Anyway! I’ve finally figured out the direction I’m heading for this story. I’m a fly-by-the-seat-of-my-pants kinda writer, so the developments are as much of a mystery to me as it is to you lmaooo  
> Thank you for reading!


	16. “Everyone has their own pace.”

_November_

“ _I’ll fix it_.”

That’s what I told Dalton and Addison, but…

“Cupcake?”

Yuzu offers me a whole trayful of rainbow-coloured cupcakes. It’s Sunday, and we’re carefree. I pick out one sprinkled with cute purple flowers. Take a bite as she puts the rest away on the counter. A few moving by us glare at me for sitting my bum on the same counter for food, swinging my feet off the stone floor, but I ignore them. It’s too warm and fragrant in here to feel anything but wholesome. I understand why Yuzu loves it.

“How’s studying?” Yuzu inquires pleasantly, easing out her latest batch from the oven she usually uses. She’s both better at being my little sister and mother than my little sister and mother are.

I purse my lips, recalling the long hours in the library trying and failing to make sense of Salma’s notes. “Not great,” I admit. “I must be stupider than I thought.” I intend the words to come out joking, but they’re heavy with an edge.

“You’re not stupid, Tómi,” Yuzu tells me gently. (My sister and mother could never.) “Everyone has their own pace…” she goes on reassuring me, and I listen with a smile.

The kitchen’s bustling. Creatures of many forms minding their own tasks like distinct cogs in a unified whole. Most of them are permanent staff— witches and wizards using their magic for beneficent domestic bliss—but there are some from outside of Hogwarts who’d opted as part-time volunteers. I see a dryad chopping carrots, a ghost giving instructions to a Veela, a goblin polishing silverware… And interspersed between them, of course, are happy little Hufflepuff students. It’s a hodgepodge of beings doing what they love most. It’s great.

Beside me, Yuzu checks the texture of the cakes she’d baked. At this point, she might as well be perpetually signed up for kitchen duty. Voluntarily, of course. (Kitchen duty being volunteer-basis is the reason why Mika, Sally and I are not in it.) She really only has to be here once a month, but she’s here weekly. The staff are so familiar with her by now that she’s allowed to use the tools and utilities to whip up her own stuff. (That’s how she makes herself her favourite raisin muffins and me the non-raisin ones.) (Bless her.)

I’m finishing up my purple cupcake when from the side of my eye I spot someone familiar.

The girl is stooping over a nearby sink, scrubbing dishes from lunch with a deep frown on her face, strands of hair falling out of her bun. It’s Clemence Cannady, the Ravenclaw Exchange student sent over to Hufflepuff. The last time I saw her was on the night of the Halloween party, when she was yelling in the face of the Headmistress…

Guess I wasn’t the only Exchange student struggling.

“Maybe you can get a tutor,” Yuzu suggests, pulling my attention back, a piping bag in her hand.

“A tutor?” I echo.

Yuzu nods. “Jo’s tutoring me. It’s his way of revising for his N.E.W.T.s. It helps us both.”

“Is that so?” I crinkle my nose at the mention of her asshole boyfriend. (Sorry, okay? I just don’t like him.)

Yuzu gets distracted decorating the cakes. I use the comfortable silence to ponder over her suggestion. A tutor, huh… At the sink, Clemence finishes her task with a huff. One of our prefects approaches her, maybe to praise her for a job well done, but her frown’s still intact. (I’m starting to think she’s even unhappier about the whole Exchange situation than me.) (Judging by the looks of it, she was more likely than not _forced_ to sign up for the “volunteer-basis” kitchen duty.) (I wonder how the other two Exchange students are doing…)

Yuzu completes her cupcakes, a satisfied smile and a blob of icing on her face. I laugh and wipe it off for her. Then help her put her masterpieces away. (They’ll appear upstairs later for tonight’s supper.) She has a study date with Joel and I feel like snuggling into blankets and napping the afternoon away. What a nice day. I’m glad I came to find her.

“Oh, I almost forgot.” Yuzu searches through a cabinet and returns to me waiting by the doorway with a pretty bag of large cookies, each one individually wrapped, each one as big as the size of my hand. They’re chocolate chip, without raisins. “I made a bunch yesterday and wrapped them separately so you can share,” Yuzu explains, handing me the bag.

Angel. She is an angel.

“Maybe you can give one to the person you’re asking to tutor you,” Yuzu suggests while I blink back tears.

“Like a bribe?”

“No!” Yuzu cries as I laugh. “Like an _appreciation gift_.”

“Right.” I grin at her. “Prospective tutors will literally line up for me just for the cookies.” I resist the urge to kiss the top of her head. “Thank you.”

Yuzu smiles cheerfully, and I swear at this point her joy transfers to me by osmosis. “You’re welcome.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tómi: >:( I am NOT friendly. >:( Don’t look at me. >:( Don’t even breathe the same air as me. >:( If ANOTHER human being talks to me I’m gonna scream. >:(  
> Also Tómi: *helps Yuzu paint flowers on her nails* *likes pretty pastries* *is happy when receiving little gifts* *”I've only known Yuzu for a day and a half but if anything happened to her I would kill everyone in this room and then myself.”*  
> Extending the #ProtectYuzu2020 movement to #ProtectYuzu2021 because.  
> Was supposed to post this chapter last month welp. (I be going through it.)  
> ALSO, probably a bit belated to say this so far into the fic, but I imagine Tómithy’s story taking place many many many years after Harry had left Hogwarts. Even after the next generation and the next generation after that had left, too. That’s why there are familiar things, and unfamiliar things. In regard to the Hogwarts kitchen workforce, I like to believe that Hermione’s S.P.E.W efforts paid off eventually, even when she wasn’t the one to champion it anymore. Like the butterfly effect, she began the good work, and now the kitchen is powered not by overworked house-elves but by happy volunteers of any and all sorts.  
> Thanks for reading! <3


End file.
